by Morgan Rice
“SILENCE!” screamed a voice.
Slowly, the room quieted, as their leader slammed his long metal staff on the stone of the ancient castle again and again.
Soon, one could hear a pin drop, as the leader emerged from the crowd. Sage laid eyes on him: Octal. A man he hadn’t seen in years, twice as tall as the others, wearing a long scarlet cloak, and wielding the metal staff of Komber. He held the staff up, with its ancient crooked cross perched on the end of it, a cross said to be able to pierce and burn even the strongest foe, a mystical weapon feared by his kind, and wielded only by their leader.
Octal stepped forward, his translucent eyes burning through Sage as he stared at him with disapproval and condescension.
“You stand now before your people,” Octal’s dark voice boomed throughout the room, echoing off the halls, as he glared at Sage, “you, who had the chance to let us all live two thousand more years. Instead, we shall all die because of you. Have you any final words for yourself?”
Sage stared back with contempt, not having the energy to respond. He knew it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.
After a long silence, Octal scowled.
“You may have given up on life,” he said, “but we have not. It is too late for you now, but not for us. I’m going to be kind and give you one last chance. I’ll forgive your sins, and pardon you, and let you live, if you lead us to the girl. Give up her life, and save all of us, your family and brothers.”
“If you do not, your final days on this planet will be more grievous than you can imagine. We will torture you in ways you cannot imagine, and introduce you to a hell you’ve never known.”
There was an agitated buzzing throughout the crowd, a murmur of approval, as the leader stepped forward and raised the tip of his staff to Sage’s chest. As the staff came closer, Sage already felt the pain. He writhed in agony, groaning, turning his head away, the searing heat coming off it unbearable. Sage knew that when it touched his skin, he would experience pain unlike any he’d ever had. The tip of the crooked cross came closer.
“Tell us,” the leader said softly. “Where is she? Will you give her up for your family?”
Finally, Sage summoned the strength to look him in the eye.
“Never,” he replied. “You may do anything you wish to me. But I will never, ever, bring you to her.”
The crowd of thousands broke out into angry murmurs, and the leader grimaced, stepped forward, and raised the crooked cross right up to Sage’s chest, sticking it against it.
Sage shrieked as the cross seared his flesh, feeling a pain rip through his bones worse than anything he could ever have imagined. The leader held it there, grimacing, pushing it deeper and deeper, as Sage screamed, wanting his life to end, but determined to never give up Scarlet.
“I think you’ll come to find,” the leader said, pushing it deeper, “that you haven’t even begun to understand what pain means.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Caitlin sat in the passenger seat, holding onto the handle, as Caleb made a hard turn onto their street and pulled up to their house, screeching to a stop before it. Caitlin leaned forward and craned her neck, peering into their lit-up house, hoping beyond hope that Scarlet had returned.
It had been a whirlwind of a drive ever since the train station, where Caleb had picked her up. Caitlin had been speechless as Caleb, all bruised up, had filled her in on all that had happened with Kyle, with his escape, with the shooting in the high school and how lucky he was to be alive. Caitlin was both horrified and grateful that Caleb had not been killed. She had warned him to stay away from Kyle until she had discovered the weapon they needed—if she ever discovered it. He had not listened; she’d had a feeling that he would not.
Caitlin had filled him in, too, on her research, on the clues she had discovered, and on where she felt they needed to go next to solve this. Caleb had listened with rapt attention, and this time around he seemed to no longer be a skeptic, after all that had happened with Kyle. Now he had seen it with his own eyes; now he knew what they were dealing with. Now he hung on her every word and seemed all too willing to follow whatever leads she had.
Their first stop, they both knew, had to be home, to see if there was any word from Scarlet, any trace of her anywhere. And if not, to pack up, head to Florida, to Caitlin’s grandmother’s, to search her attic and get the clue they would need to lead them inside the lost city beneath the Sphinx.
As they pulled up in front of the house, Caitlin, expecting to see her home empty, was shocked by the sight: her front door was ajar, the lights were on, and she saw motion inside.
“Did you leave the door open?” she asked Caleb.
He shook his head.
Caleb reached out, grabbed his gun, and cocked it.
Caitlin looked at him, horrified.
“What are you doing? Where did you get that?”
“I don’t know what’s going on around here anymore,” he said, “and I’m not taking any chances.”
They jumped out of the car, hurried up the creaking wooden steps to their porch, and ran through the open front door.
As they crossed the threshold, Caitlin gasped.
It was a devastating sight. Her entire house, everything she’d known and loved and saved for her entire life, was smashed, destroyed, everything in bits and pieces. There were shards of broken glass, broken china, furniture ripped, everything destroyed, as if a lawnmower had ridden over it. She couldn’t imagine what could cause such awful destruction, short of a tornado.
Even more shocking was the sight of the three priests slumped on the floor, bloody, and a fourth priest, the one she knew from down the block, standing in her living room, looking at her, terrified.
“What are you doing in our home?” Caitlin asked.
“What happened here?” Caleb asked him.
The priest looked shell-shocked, eyes open, mouth agape, as he slowly shook his head. He seemed too stunned to even speak.
Caitlin walked through the mess, glass crunching beneath her feet, her eye attracted to a note she saw on the floor. She leaned down, picked it up, and with shaking hands began to read.
“Caleb, look at this,” she said quickly.
Caleb hurried over, and the two of them examined the note together.
“This note was left for Scarlet,” she said. “Sage. That was the boy. Boldt Castle…. I think she was here. I think she read this. I think that’s where she’s gone. She’s going to save him.”
“Let’s go,” Caleb said.
Caleb grabbed her hand, and they began to hurry out of the house, Caitlin caring about nothing but finding Scarlet and saving her.
As they reached the front door, the night suddenly lit up with flashing sirens outside the house. She saw a police cruiser parked outside, heard footsteps on her wooden porch, and saw two local police officers, whom she knew from town, walk in uninvited.
“Mr. and Mrs. Paine,” one of the officers said.
The officers did not look at them in a friendly way, as they had their entire lives. Instead, they looked at them suspiciously, as if they were criminals. Even the tone of his voice was more somber than ever before.
They stepped in and looked around the house, taking it all in.
“What happened here?” he said. “We received complaints.”
Caitlin and Caleb looked around the house themselves, and Caitlin realized how bad it must look. She didn’t know how to explain, and she didn’t have time to—she wanted to find Scarlet.
“I don’t know,” said Caleb. “We just walked in.”
The cops look at him suspiciously, unwavering.
“I’m sorry to say this, Caleb,” he said, “but we have multiple reports of you at the high school, carrying a gun, firing. You and your brother-in-law, Sam. A lot of witnesses. Was it you?” he said, as his eyes roamed the house, then looked at the priests lying on the floor with concern.
“Did you do this?” the other police officer asked Caleb. “Who are tho
se men? Are they hurt?”
The officer hurried over and knelt beside the priests.
Caitlin suddenly felt a sense of horror, as she realized they were both looking at Caleb suspiciously, clearly thinking he was responsible.
“You have the wrong idea,” Caleb said. “This wasn’t me. None of it was me. You don’t understand what we are dealing with here. Why would I destroy my own home?”
“A lot of cops are dead,” an officer said. “A lot of people are asking a lot of questions, and a lot of fingers are pointing to you.”
“Me?” Caleb said, indignant.
“Are you denying that you were at the high school? That you fired a gun?”
“I was there,” Caleb said. “I did fire. But you don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry,” the officer said, shaking his head, reaching for his handcuffs, “but we have to bring you in for questioning.”
Caitlin and Caleb exchanged a horrified look as the two officers approached. Caleb looked stunned, frozen.
Caitlin realized that if they took Caleb away, their only hope of finding Scarlet would be gone.
“No!” Caitlin shouted.
Caitlin stepped forward and shoved the officer, pushing him away from Caleb—and Caleb grabbed Caitlin’s hand and pulled her, racing out the front door.
“FREEZE!” the cops yelled out behind them.
Caitlin and Caleb ran down the steps, racing through the cold night, jumping into the car together. Caleb slammed the door, turned the key, gunned the engine, and the two of them peeled off.
Caitlin looked over her shoulder, saw the cops running after them, scrambling into their car, turning on the lights, talking into their radios. The cruiser took off after them; it was only a few blocks behind them.
They sped through the night, fugitives on the run, and Caitlin knew that soon, the entire police force would be after them.
“Where are we going?” Caitlin asked Caleb.
Caleb, driving like a maniac, didn’t look at her as he replied:
“To Scarlet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Kyle landed outside the tall stone gates heralding a long, tree-lined cobblestone driveway that wound its way longer than any driveway ever should, up to a massive private mansion. Kyle could have landed inside the gates—he could have landed right on the roof of the mansion if he’d wanted. But instead, he had flown over it, scouting it out from above, seeing the sprawling acres, the huge historic structure, the swimming pool and tennis court, the ancient oak trees, the sculpture scattered on the lawn, and he had felt sick from it. It was more than any one man should be entitled to. Much less this bratty little girl, Scarlet’s best friend.
Vivian.
Kyle thought it would be fun to land before the gates, to take his time walking up to the house and enjoying himself. After all, it was a beautiful fall day, and it would be a nice long walk up the driveway. He hoped he could even let them see him approaching, and strike terror and fear into their hearts. He smiled at the thought. Nothing would give him more joy.
As Kyle stepped toward the massive iron gates, a sudden crackle came out over the intercom.
“May I help you?” came a voice. “This is a private residence.”
Kyle smiled as he walked over to microphone.
“You can’t help me,” he replied, “but maybe you should help yourselves.”
Kyle reached out, grabbed the box, and yanked it out of the wall, exposing its wires. As it hissed and beeped with feedback, Kyle smashed it to the ground. There, he thought. That was already an improvement for this place.
Kyle reached out grabbed hold of the two huge iron gates, a thousand pounds each, and he easily tore them from their hinges. There came a crumbling of rock and rubble.
Kyle wound up and threw the iron gates and they went flying a good hundred yards, smashing into the car sitting at the end of the driveway—a brand new Bentley. There came a great showering of glass, and car alarms went off, piercing the tranquil fall afternoon air.
Kyle beamed, thrilled at his aim.
Kyle began to walk calmly up the driveway, smiling wildly, already in a good mood, looking at the chaos and destruction already before him. He walked casually, as if he had all the time in the world, passing several other cars—Lamborghinis and Mercedes and Maseratis—that were parked in the driveway.
Finally, he climbed the white marble steps leading to the front door, and as he did, Kyle could hear multiple bolts being locked behind the double-wide mahogany front doors. He could hear alarms being set, could hear a frantic voice calling the police. Kyle knew that was a waste of time: with a mansion like this, the police would have been notified automatically, the second he broke that intercom. The people inside were panicking.
He smiled broadly. As well they should.
Kyle grabbed the gold-plated doorknobs and with a good yank he tore the thick mahogany doors off their hinges, throwing them back behind him and into the Lamborghini. He glanced over his shoulder and admired his handiwork.
Kyle looked into the front door and saw a caretaker standing there, holding a cell phone, looking at him with panic.
“I told you to help yourself,” Kyle said, as he took two steps in, grabbed the man by the shirt, and hoisted him into the air.
“The police are on their way!” the man shouted, frantic.
Kyle smiled.
“I myself could never afford help,” Kyle said. “Then again, I couldn’t afford a house, either. You might say that I learned to help myself.”
Kyle turned and threw the man and he went flying a good fifty yards, until he landed in the marble bubbling fountain in the center of the circular driveway, smashing it to pieces. He lay there, unmoving.
Kyle shook his head at the sight.
“Should’ve took another job,” he said. “That’s what you get for working for rich people.”
Kyle turned back and stepped into the house. It was adorned with a huge marble foyer, sweeping ceilings thirty feet high, a whole wall of glass facing out back, through which he could see a marble stone patio about fifty feet deep, leading to a massive pool.
Lounging beside the pool he saw a girl who must be Vivian, maybe seventeen, lying there, dressed but taking advantage of the sun even though it was November, clearly oblivious to all the goings-on the other side of the house.
Kyle grinned.
“Nice spread,” he murmured to himself, admiring the decor as he casually walked through the foyer. He ran his hand along the back of a silk settee, then reached out and touched a priceless vase of china. He leaned over and smelled the flowers.
“I could have used a spread like this in prison,” he said.
Kyle slid the china vase toward the edge gingerly, little by little, until it hovered on the edge. Then he gave it one tiny push, and he laughed as it fell and shattered into pieces, the flowers falling onto the floor.
“Whoops,” he said.
From outside, Kyle could already hear the distant sirens. The police were surely coming for him. His clock was ticking.
Kyle marched across the foyer, out the French doors, which were already ajar, the curtains billowing in the wind, and he walked quietly across the endless marble plaza until he was poolside. There were dozens of plush lounge chairs lined up around it, only one of them occupied.
Vivian.
She lay there, her back to him, eyes closed to the sunny November sky.
“Carlos, is that you?” Vivian called out, eyes still closed as she lay in the sun. “You forgot the lime in my seltzer.”
She lay there, eyes closed, frowning.
“Carlos?” she called out. “Do you hear me? I need another. And do it right this time.”
Kyle walked up to her, grinning as he sat on a chair beside her.
“Lime, huh?” he said. “I always go for lemon when I order my servants around.”
Vivian sat up in a panic, squinting over at him, raising a hand to the sun, disoriented. At the sight of him she fli
nched, pulling her sweater tighter and jumping back a bit, as if some grotesque creature had just landed beside her and violated her space.
“Who are you?” she demanded, with the insolent voice of the rich. “How did you get here? The service entrance is around front.”
“A bit cold for tanning, wouldn’t you say?” Kyle said.
“Did you hear me?” she asked. “What are you doing here? I can call the police, you know.”
Kyle laughed, slapping his thigh. This one had spirit.
“Check. Someone beat you to it. But they won’t help you now.”
Vivian’s brow furrowed in recognition that she was in danger, and for the first time, worry crossed her face. She began to get up, but Kyle reached out and draped an arm around her shoulder, held her close. He squeezed her tight, holding her there as she squirmed uncomfortably.
“Get off of me!” she snapped. “What do you want? Let go! Please. I don’t know you. My daddy can pay you whatever you want. Just tell me how much you want. Please, let me go!”
Kyle held her tight, laughing madly, and Vivian began to cry.
“I don’t want your daddy’s money,” he said. “I want something far more valuable.”
“What?” she asked. “What do you want? Please, just let me go!”
She struggled, but he held her tight.
“I will ask you once,” he said. “Lie to me, and you’ll be swimming in that gunite pool of yours, far beneath that tarp. Answer correctly, and I’ll let you go.”
She cried, weeping, truly scared.
“Please,” she said between tears. “Just let me go. Whatever you want, I’ll tell you. Do you want to code to the safe?”
Kyle shook his head.
“I want to know where your best friend is. Where is Scarlet?”
“Scarlet!?” Vivian said. “My best friend!? I hate her.”
Kyle looked back, confused by her reaction.